


I'll claim it, love, our love

by harold_styles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2020, Bisexual Harry Styles, Bisexual Louis Tomlinson, Coronavirus, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Isolation, M/M, Possible smut, Quarantine, Slow Burn, larry - Freeform, larry stylison - Freeform, world pandemic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harold_styles/pseuds/harold_styles
Summary: It's 2020. Harry Styles signs a contract to collaborate with ex-bandmate Louis Tomlinson for the soundtrack of an upcoming movie, convinced they can ignore the years of silence between them. Louis, who doesn't seem to be backing down at all, invites Harry to stay at his big mansion. Everything seems to be okay for a few days.Then a world pandemic comes, and Harry and Louis find themselves isolated in Louis' home.  Forced to stay alone with each other for so much time, will they be able to reconnect?Extract:It’s not until hours later, tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because of reasons he can’t quite catch, that it occurs to him that maybe the reason Louis was asking had been so that Harry asked him back. He imagines the scene, him asking Louis if he was all right, to see Louis crumble before him. “No, I’m not,” he’d whisper, and Harry would run to him, like he’d done millions of times before, and put his arms around the other boy, feel Louis’s nose on the curve of his neck and his hands clutching at his shirt. He falls asleep then, still with something heavy on his chest and almost sure that he can sense, feel, hear, Louis’ deep breathing from the other side of the huge house.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so... this happened. I took some liberties (Louis is not a father and his relationship with Eleanor is not real), and probably others I'm not aware of considering I'm not exactly a One Direction fan and so I know only the general stuff about Harry's and Louis' relationship.  
> But they're so cute together! and I want to write about them so... Here it goes.

When Harry accepted the proposal, he didn’t think the other man would accept it as well. He was between albums, with a lot of free time, and knew this movie was going to be a big deal, so he couldn’t just say no. He didn’t want to say no. But then again… He didn’t have a problem collaborating with other artists when writing, of course, but this was not any artist. It was  _ him _ . His ex-bandmate. His ex-best friend. 

So he said yes, firmly believing that the other man would say no as soon as he heard Harry’s name. 

Now, a week later since the phone call that would change everything, he receives the contract from his agent. And there it is. Louis’ name next to his, and Harry knows in that instant he’s made a huge mistake. Yet, if the other man didn’t back down, Harry can’t be the one to do it. It would be like admitting something is actually wrong between them, when they have been pretending for years (years of one or two texts every three months) that they have just “drifted apart” as a result of their busy schedules and the fact that they live in different continents. Which reminds Harry, they live in different continents! Surely they will only have to share ideas and work online to come up with the songs… right?

He phones his agent.

  
  
  


Harry is panicking. It turns out the producers want the writers to really work collaboratively,  _ in person _ , because otherwise the soundtrack won’t come together right and the atmosphere will be affected and some other bullshit, so by the time he phones his agent she has already arranged a meeting with Louis’ agent to work on the details of how and where they will meet. The worst thing is that, with this virus that’s been spreading around, she doesn’t think they will be able to book a hotel in London or Los Angeles. Most hotels in big cities have already closed down, and there are rumours that big cities around the world will be put under quarantine. 

“So shouldn’t they stop with the production?” asks Harry, hopeful. 

“Well… it’s a big movie,” his agent says. “It’s been in the work for a long time and they haven’t received any official notice yet that asks them to stop production”

“Which means they’re big rich people doing what they want” 

“Harry…” she warns, then sighs. Her tone turns to a more confidential one. “You don’t have to do this, you know? If…”

“If what?” he challenges. He doesn’t like that she can read him so easily. “We’re fine. I mean, I’m fine. I’ll do it”

So he sends the signed contract and waits impatiently for his agent to call back with the details. He thinks, maybe, that the other man will find an excuse to back down. A part of him hopes so, but a deeper part… 

He turns on the TV, thrown across his huge black couch, and tries not to think too much about it. About him.

  
  


His agent calls on a Thursday a week later while he’s in the bathroom. He almost trips over his own feet in his rush to grab the cellphone he left on the kitchen table. 

“Yes?”

His agent goes to the point. They quickly decided it was best for Harry to fly over to Hertfordshire. With the virus going around, a relatively small city was better for them to meet than big, crowded Los Angeles. Harry agrees, but is quick to ask where he will be staying. 

“Well, that is the thing” his agent says. Harry has a horrible thought. His agent immediately turns it into a reality. “His agent insisted you should stay at Mr. Tomlimson’s place. He said that Mr. Tomlinson was very adamant about this, that he argued he wouldn’t make you come back and forth from London every day for two weeks when he has a perfectly big place and many vacant rooms, especially…”

“Especially?”

“Especially for a friend, I believe he said”

_ Friend. _

All right, Harry knew what Louis was playing at. The smug little shit probably thought Harry would run away as soon as he heard they had to share a place. But he wouldn’t give him that pleasure. 

  
  


A week later, he’s arriving in London after an especially anxiety-inducing flight. Too tired to face the paparazzis, he asks for them to be paid off so that he can escape towards the car unnoticed. He doesn’t usually do that, but he really, really wants to avoid any potentially awkward questions about what he’s doing in London (he’s not allowed to say yet, and wouldn’t anyway, for obvious reasons). He stumbles upon a fan anyways and accepts to take a picture with her. Thankfully, she seems kind and doesn’t ask anything. 

In the car ride to Hertfordshire he distracts himself by chatting with the driver, even though he’s not very chatty at all and turns up the music whenever Harry tries to make a joke. He surrenders after a while, and limits himself to observing the beautiful but sad English landscape.

They’re there sooner than he anticipated, and he realizes he’s definitely not ready when he sees Louis’  _ mansion _ . I mean, the lad bought himself a fucking four-story mansion. Harry knew this, but he hadn’t yet seen it and it is… it is something, all right. 

He’s helping his driver with his luggage when the front door (the huge-ass front door) opens and Louis comes out with a big smile on his face. 

“Hey, mate” he says, extending his hand, which Harry shakes with an awkward smile. Louis insists on taking the luggage from the driver’s hands and they head inside. 

The place is even more stunning from the inside, a beautiful mix of classic architecture with modern furniture, huge chandeliers and a marble double staircase, sensible colours on the walls and expensive-looking oil paintings. And yet it feels too… cold. Not homey at all. 

“Anyway, umh” Louis tries. “I’ll show you to your room”

They head upstairs and walk down a long corridor, turning left and then right before Louis stops in front of a door. He opens it and steps inside, signaling Harry to follow. The room is certainly nice, big enough to fit a double bed and a big closet, but it’s not as over-the-top as Harry would have guessed by the rest of the mansion. 

“I know it’s not…” Louis begins, as if reading his mind. “But I know you don’t like big rooms, and this is the best I can offer”

Harry feels his cheeks warm up. The fact that Louis still remembers certain things about him (like the fact that big, ostentatious rooms make him feel odd and lonely) makes him feels odd in a whole different way. 

“Thanks, mate,” he says. 

Louis steps out of the room to point him in the direction of the nearest bathroom, down the corridor, and then asks him if he wants to have something to eat. 

“Sure, we could have lunch? I can cook if you want”

It’s now Louis’ turn to blush, and Harry knows he’s remembering some scenes from a decade ago: Harry, cooking in his pajamas while Louis sits at the counter, also in his pajamas, talking about nothing and everything as he observes Harry do all the work. 

“I have a cook, you know, you don’t have to do that” Louis points out. 

“Yeah… yeah, sure, you’re right” Harry says, slightly disappointed. 

  
  


Half an hour later they sit in Louis’ dining room, eating what Harry can admit is the most delicious pasta he has tried in years. Harry, again, was surprised when Louis informed the cook that Harry is a vegetarian, since not many people know that, but secretly pleased that Louis must have done some research on him. 

Even though the table is big enough to fit a family of twelve, they instinctively sit facing one another, so Harry feels uncomfortable when he senses the uncomfortable silence creeping in. He searches his mind for information  _ he _ has on Louis, and the most obvious question comes to mind. 

“So, where’s Eleanor?” He immediately regrets it when an odd expression crosses the other man’s face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…”   
“No, no! It’s fine.” He lets some seconds pass by. “She’s on a trip with some of her friends. She’s supposed to be back on a few days, but they’re not sure the flights will be working, with all the… you know, world pandemic issue”

“Oh, right! What the hell, right?”

Apparently relieved to change subjects, Louis goes into a discussion of the virus that’s threatening to become a serious issue, and they talk about that for the rest of lunch. After they finish, Harry communicates he’s going to take a much needed nap (which brings a whole lot of other memories of shared naps in the X-Factor rooms that he very intentionally ignores), to which Louis replies they can meet in two hours to start working on the songs. 

  
  


The first few days pass by more or less uneventful, besides the world pandemic that appears to be getting more out of hand each day. The weekend arrives, and Louis decides to give his employees some days off (“Do you mind?” he asks Harry, as if he has a say in how Louis manages his household). 

“What do you want to do today?” He asks Saturday after a late breakfast, while they sit at the outside table, looking at Louis’ infinite garden. The day is surprisingly beautiful, cold but not so much that they can’t sit under the shining sun and take off some clothes to feel its warmth on the skin of their arms. 

“Do you have a pool?” Harry asks, knowing what the other man will say before he says it. 

Louis smirks. “Outside or inside? Because…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re obscenely rich, we all know that” Harry interrupts, but he’s smirking as well. 

So they head to the inside pool (it’s still too cold outside to swim), before Harry realizes he didn’t pack any swimming trunks. Louis offers to lend him some, which Harry has to accept unless he wants to swim naked so they head back inside to Louis’ room. Harry follows, mostly unconsciously but actually a bit curious to peek inside the place where Louis sleeps. 

“Um, so, this is my room,” says Louis uncomfortably when they walk in. 

“It’s nice,” Harry says, and he’s not lying. It is, he might say, the only place so far in the mansion that looks a bit more homey and lived-in. It is big, but not extremely so, with a walk-in closet and a private bathroom. One of the walls, which Harry approaches to have a better look at, is covered by a sort of brown board filled with sticky notes and pinned pieces of paper with what Harry quickly realises are lyrics. 

“That is my ideas board, I guess,” Louis points out. Harry jumps slightly, having been unaware that Louis was standing so close behind him. He turns around and Louis gives a step back. 

Harry, suddenly realizing something, takes another quick look at the whole room. There are no signs that another person besides Louis sleeps there. No signs of women's clothes, or someone else’s belongings. There is a double-bed, sure, but only one pillow and some cushions. Of course, he doesn’t ask, but the thought that Louis and his girlfriend sleep in separate rooms strikes him not only as sad but —he hates to admit— a bit suspicious. He never believed in all those fan theories that said that Louis and Elenor weren’t a real couple, but taking a look at the rooms he’s seen of the mansion (and the very apparent lack of Elenor’s presence in them), he’s not so sure anymore. Then he realizes how stupid he’s being, thinking of things that are clearly none of his business, and clears his throat before asking Louis for the trunks. 

  
  


After swimming, and working on one of the songs for a bit, they sit on the couch in front of the massive TV. As soon as they turn it on, they lean towards it, eyes wide-open. 

“Due to the quick spreading of the disease and the accelerating rate of casualties, the UK government has decided to follow the example of Spain and declare mandatory isolation for an undetermined period,” informs the reporter. “All non-essential jobs are to be stopped immediately, and shops closed, until further notice”

Louis, who is known to start panicking on the face of any stressful event, indeed starts panicking and calling some people to inform him exactly what the quarantine implies. Harry, too surprised to calm him down, listens as the other man nods and frowns with the phone to his ear. After hanging up, Louis informs him that all his employees have to stay at home, Eleanor can not come back, they are not to travel to London unless it’s strictly necessary and they are basically to remain isolated for some weeks. Harry, shocked, calls his agent, who confirms everything Louis has told him and further explains that the production of the movie’s been put on hold after all, but that they should continue to work on the songs for the movie meanwhile, though they don’t know when they’ll be able to record them. 

“Okay,” Louis says after some minutes of silence. “This is unexpected”

Harry turns to him. They lock eyes for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing. He’s not sure why exactly they are laughing: perhaps it’s a nervous  _ oh my god we’re in the middle of a world pandemic _ laugh; perhaps it’s a  _ it took a bloody world pandemic to get us alone with each other _ kind of laugh. Harry doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. It feels good to laugh with Louis, to hear his high-pitched, half-silent laugh, to see his eyes get watery and his tongue poking out between his teeth. He lets himself enjoy the moment. 

After they calm themselves down and discuss some things about the next few weeks (Harry’s worried they won’t have enough food, but Louis assures him there is enough. Besides, they can get some supplies delivered from the city), they decide to go to bed early and wake up the next day to work on the songs after breakfast. 

And so Harry is half-way to the bedroom when Louis calls his name and he turns around. “Yeah?” 

Louis hesitates. “Are you all right?” he asks, and Harry frowns.

“I’m okay, why?”

Louis seems to think for a second, then gives an almost imperceptible sigh. “Nothing, just making sure. G’night, Harry”

“Good night, Louis”

It’s not until hours later, tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because of reasons he can’t quite catch, that it occurs to him that maybe the reason Louis was asking had been so that Harry asked him back. He imagines the scene, him asking Louis if he was all right, to see Louis crumble before him. “No, I’m not,” he’d whisper, and Harry would run to him, like he’d done millions of times before, and put his arms around the other boy, feel Louis’s nose on the curve of his neck and his hands clutching at his shirt. He falls asleep then, still with something heavy on his chest and almost sure that he can sense, feel, hear, Louis’ deep breathing from the other side of the huge house. 


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos! They make me want to keep writing:D Again, I'm new in this fandom so any out-of-character thing or detail you notice please let me know. Enjoy!

“I like this bit,” says Louis, pointing to a verse. Harry squints his eyes to try and understand his own quick scribbles. 

“Oh, yeah, let me see…” Harry searches for the rhythm in his head, his palms hitting softly against his thighs, as he begins to mumble the lyrics. 

_ Here I stand, counting smiles _

_ Missing planes  _

_ Waiting for the day  _

_ Our love can come back  _

_ From that place _

_ Where lost things go _

_ When there’s no one to claim them, love _

_ But I will claim it, love _

_ I will… _

“Who do you think of?” Louis interrupts him. Harry thinks of the question for a second, but then frowns at him. 

“What do you mean?”

Louis hesitates, clears his throat, looks down. “When you write these lyrics, when… when you sing them. They’re about love, aren’t they?”

Harry feels his cheeks warm up, sensing where the question is going. “Well, the movie’s about love, isn’t it? Basically”

Louis gives him an awkward smile. “Yeah, well, you’re right,” he mumbles. 

They continue in silence for some minutes, each of them focused on their thoughts, scribbling lyrics or playing random cords until something promising starts to come together. But Harry can’t stop thinking about Louis’ question. Who does he really think of, when writing love songs? There’s no one specific, he thinks. Writing about break-ups, about past loves, that’s easy, there are quite a few people. But what about lyrics like the one he sang minutes ago? Lyrics that speak of recovering a lost love, of coming back to someone’s arms. As much as he sometimes misses things from his past relationships, there’s no one he’d like to come back to. Unless… no, but that doesn’t count. It’s not the same. 

Louis, interrupting his thoughts, suggests they go swimming for a bit before lunch, to which Harry agrees. He goes up to look for his trunks after telling Louis to meet him at the pool. When he’s back, Louis is already in the water. Harry allows himself to observe him for a second, long legs moving softly just under the surface, arms coming back up and down in semi-circles, the curve of his back. Then he shakes his head, clearing his mind. Louis hasn’t noticed that he’s here yet, so an idea comes to him. He tiptoes to the edge of the pool and, with a shout, he jumps, falling inches away from Louis. When he emerges from underwater, Louis is laughing. “You dick!” he exclaims, and throws himself at Harry. They wrestle for a bit, trying to push each other under the water, like they did back when they were teens. By the time they stop, they’re both breathing hard and smiling at each other like idiots.

“I missed this,” says Louis, as if without thinking. 

The air changes then, and becomes heavier. They’re not smiling anymore, but just looking at each other. The weight of all the years between them, years of barely speaking, everything that has gone unsaid and unlived because of something they can’t quite recognize yet pushes on their shoulders and seems to want to sink them, force them under the water and leave them there, unable to fight against time, against silence. 

Finally, they get off the pool, the tip of their fingers wrinkled. Harry announces he’s going to take a warm shower, which Louis says he will do as well. They go their separate ways. 

  
  


That night they decide to eat outside. The night is pleasant, with a clear sky and a nice warm breeze. The moonlight is almost enough so that they only have to turn on a few lights. Louis sets the table in silence as Harry works on the pizzas. He offers to help with the cooking, but Harry laughs and sends him to get a beer. Louis does so, handing a bottle to Harry and taking a little jump to sit on the counter. 

Inevitably, Harry’s brought back in time to when they used to do this at their apartment on Princess Park. Louis must be thinking of that too, because he says: 

“Remember when we used to do this?”

And it hits Harry just then how much Louis has been the one to speak things out loud these past few days, seemingly unaware of how much it hurts Harry to think of those days. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s been a long time”

Louis stays silent for a minute. Then, “Have you moved in with someone else?”

It’s an odd question, and one that leaves Harry’s hand halfway down in the process of chopping an onion. He hesitates, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “I… no, no I haven’t. Why?”

Louis shrugs. “Just asking”

Harry continues to chop the onion. Then, clearing his throat, he adds: “You’ve moved in with Eleanor.” And it sounds so much like an accusation that he feels the need to apologize, to clarify what he meant (even though he doesn’t quite know why he said that), but before he can Louis lets out a weid, uncomfortable chuckle. 

“That’s not…” he begins, and Harry completes the phrase in his mind:  _ that’s not the same _ . No, of course it’s not the same, Harry thinks. You were his friend, Eleanor is his girlfriend, he tells himself. But then Louis corrects himself:

“She’s not quite living here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed”

Harry puts the onion on the pan, hearing the nice sizzle of it hitting the hot surface. He starts on a tomato. “Why’s that?” he asks, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“Well…” Louis plays with the bottle in his hands, gives it a drink, then sets it next to him on the counter. “We’re not actually together”

Harry feels something turn in his stomach, though he’s not sure what it is. “No? How’s that?”

“We’ve been separated for a long time, years, but…” Louis seems kind of ashamed. “It was just easier to pretend to be together still, easier for both of us I guess”

“But… why?” Harry insists, and hates himself for it when he senses how uncomfortable Louis is with this conversation. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s none of my business”

Louis says it’s okay, but doesn’t go on with the topic. Instead he starts talking about one of the songs they’ve been working on, and the changes they can make for it to fit the scene they’re writing it for. When the pizzas are ready, they sit at the table outside and eat mostly in silence. Louis says it’s delicious, and Harry thanks him politely. They talk a bit, about nothing important, about the movie and the pandemic and who will do the dishes. Louis ends up washing while Harry dries, and after they’re done they return outside. Louis asks him if he wants to smoke. 

“I don’t smoke,” he says, and Louis laughs. Harry feigns indignance, but doesn’t say anything when Louis goes back inside to fetch a lighter. He offers to bring two chairs to sit on the backyard, but Harry dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand. “Let’s sit on the ground,” he says instead, and lets himself down. 

Louis rolls the joint and lights it up, all in swift and careless movements that remind Harry of when they used to do this back in their teens and Louis would fumble around and mess up the joint. He passes it to Harry, who takes a drag and passes it back. 

They sit there on the grass, smoking quietly and staring at the dark, cloudless sky. After a while Harry can feel the effects of the pot start to wrap around him, to lull him into a sort of peaceful, relaxed mood. When he was young, smoking used to make him feel dizzy and light-headed, ready to burst into laughing at anything his friends would say, but after all these years it just makes him want to sleep. Or have sex. Pot does make him quite horny, which he somehow managed to forget when he accepted Louis’ idea. 

“What are you thinking about?” asks Louis, his words seeming to drag one behind the other. He has a dumb smile on his face, and is sitting closer to Harry than Harry had noticed before. He can even feel the heat emanating from his friend, could almost touch the soft fabric of his sweater. 

“Having sex,” he answers, because pot takes away all his filters. 

Louis chuckles. “Nice,” he says, and then laughs some more. Harry decides he wants to lay on his back on the grass, so he does, and a minute later feels more than sees Louis do the same. 

“Who you thinking of having sex with?” inquires Louis, speaking quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the unsaid conversation they’re having on the side. 

“Myself,” Harry says, and Louis giggles again. 

“Want some help?” he asks between laughs. 

Harry laughs. “Oh shut up,” he exclaims, and moves a bit to push Louis’ shoulder with his own. Then he groans theatrically. “I’m just soooo horny”

Louis turns his head towards him, cheek against the grass, and looks at him with reddish eyes. 

“So how long has it been?” 

Harry sighs. “Long”

“How’s that possible, though?”

Harry frowns at him. “What do you mean?” (He realizes he’s asked that question a lot these days). 

“Yeah, well, you’re…” Louis gestures at him with his hands. “Harry fucking Styles”

Harry laughs. “Well, more like Harry’s  _ not _ fucking Styles”

“Oh, you know what I mean, don’t make me say it”

Harry wants him to say it, though. “What? That I’m incredibly handsome?” he jokes. “That doesn’t mean anything. Not when you’re famous, anyway. You know how it is. Finding someone you can trust…”

“But you have dated some women” Louis points out. 

“Yeah, I’ve dated… people” he confirms, though really aware of his rephrasing. Louis, as he always does, doesn’t let it slip his notice. 

“People?” 

“Yeah, you know…” Now Harry gestures at something with his hands. “People”

They stay silent for a moment. The joint is long gone and Harry can feel the effects of it washing away, his mind awakening and his senses tingling again, as if preparing his body to run out of this conversation as soon as he can. 

“You mean men,” says Louis then. 

Harry turns his head towards him again, looking at the other man defiantly. He nods. Louis just looks at him, and Harry can see a battle going on behind his blue irises. He doesn’t know what Louis is fighting or what wins the fight in the end, but after a moment Louis sits up slowly and says he’s going to bed. Harry adds that he’s also tired, so they soon head back inside. 

“G’night, Harry,” says Louis. Before Harry can reply, he’s rushing upstairs. 

  
  


Two hours later, Harry still can’t fall asleep. He’s turning on the bed, thinking of that night’s conversation with Louis. What was that about? Was it the pot speaking when Louis offered to have sex with him? He knew he had meant it as a joke. Right? No, no, of course he’d meant it as a joke. Louis was his friend. He’d always been just his friend. Except…

His mind takes him back many years ago, to when the two of them lived together in their apartment. That night they weren’t high, but they were drunk when it happened. They’d been sprawled on the floor, backs against the sofa, laughing at Louis’ story of the first time he’d kissed a girl. Then Harry had opened his mouth to ask something else. At that time, it was Harry the one to always make uncomfortable, weird, too personal questions. He didn’t know why he did it, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. 

“Have you ever kissed a boy?” he had asked.

Louis had choked, as he’d just been drinking from his beer, and half-laughed as Harry patted him on the back. Once he’d calmed down, he’d looked at Harry with a mix of surprise and shyness. “No. Have you?”

“No,” Harry had said. It was true. It’s not that he didn’t want to, or thought about it quite a lot, but it just hadn’t happened. 

“Do you want to?” had inquired Louis. 

Harry had shrugged, trying to seem as if the question didn’t make him want to hide behind the couch. “Sure, yeah. Just… you know, to see what it’s like”

He had refused to look at his friend, and was instead looking fixedly at the ground, which is why he didn’t see Louis’ quick movements next to him. Suddenly, Louis had grabbed his head, turning it to the side, and had pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry had opened his eyes wide in shock, but after a second he’d relaxed, sighed into the kiss and returned it gently, opening his mouth just enough to feel the slice of the other boy’s lips against his own. 

It was over before it started. Louis had moved back and cleared his throat. They had stayed silent for a moment, avoiding each other’s eyes. Harry half-expected Louis to ask something, about what he thought of the kiss or if he knew whether he wanted to kiss boys now. He had wanted him to ask, somehow. But Louis hadn’t. He’d just announced he was going to bed, then had stood up and left. 

They never talked about it. Harry hadn’t had the courage to bring it up, and guessed that either Louis hadn’t the courage as well or the kiss hadn’t been a big deal to him. But it’d been a big deal to Harry. It had answered a question about himself he’d been asking for a while, about who he was and what he liked and who he wanted. It took a long time to accept the answer, longer still to show himself to the world as he was, appearing careless about the topic when he was scared shitless inside. 

Now he laid on the bed in a room of Louis’ huge house and he wondered, did Louis remember that kiss so long ago? Or was it really completely unimportant to him? 

He was ready to let the subject go and finally force himself to sleep when he heard a noise outside his room, and then a knock on the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you spot any grammar mistakes (I'm not a native speaker). Also, please let me know if you liked this and wish me to continue!! I have one more chapter written. It's probably going to be three or four chapters long, no more than that.  
> XX


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